


Steve Rogers, Purveyor of Fine Meats and Abs

by GhostCrumpet



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Gen, MEAT SHENANIGANS, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-21
Updated: 2017-07-21
Packaged: 2018-12-05 05:12:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11571042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhostCrumpet/pseuds/GhostCrumpet
Summary: Inspired by the meatwich twins, Evans and what's his face that plays Peter Quill.Also inspired by this tumblr post: https://hushinghorizon.tumblr.com/post/163242776272/how-have-i-never-seen-this-before-and-where-is-3kAlso I am trash.





	Steve Rogers, Purveyor of Fine Meats and Abs

“Oh my fucking god.”  
  
Darcy stopped short at the sight in the compound kitchen.

“The fuck is that?” she asked, pointing at what she  _assumed_  was sandwich meat in Peter Quill’s hands. She assumed, because it looked like a meat-like substance, except it had a face in it. It was a meat-face. A face made of meat. And it was a clown-meat-face. Clown-face-meat. She felt her belly turn over.

“I’m trying something new,” he said with a broad grin, slicing piece of  _face_  off of the face-tube-meat-thing that he was holding over the cutting board. She felt her stomach squeeze.

“It’s got a face in it,” she said, pointing out the obvious.

“Yeah apparently this was a real rager in the 90′s with kids in England,” Quill replied, slapping the clown-meat-face-meat between two pieces of bread and squirting some tube-mayo in there for good measure. She had to look away when he lifted it up to his mouth for a bite.

“Oh god.” Her lunch, which had been a healthy salad squeezed over with lemon juice (thanks upcoming Asgardian wedding needing to look her best in a magic space dress that didn’t have a bra), was threatening to make a second showing.

“Hey Rogers,” Peter said, around a mouthful of meat-clown-face. Darcy startled and looked over to her left where Captain  _Hhohhhmygodabs_  was walking into the room, shirtless, sweaty, and grinning with a swinging pair of strung sausages dangling from one hand.

“Christ, almighty,” she whispered, “what is this, the sausage fest?”

“My tree worked great,” Steve said with the happiest, sunniest expression on his face that she’d ever seen in her life. “Sausages smoked perfectly. See, I didn’t need Stark to build me an arc-reactor powered smoker. Old fashioned hickory works just fine! Hey Darce. Want some meat?” He lifted the swinging sausages to her, and seemed to not notice her gawping at his shirtless, dewy-skinned condition.

Peter stood just behind him and pivoted on his Converse Allstars to grin at her, mouth full of clown-meat-face-meat.

“Yheah Dharce, whanht shome mheat?” he asked, the knowing-smug look of his only enhanced by cheeks bulging with processed-clown-birthday-ruining-meat. She hated him. She hated him  _so much_. He knew how bad she had it for Rogers, and he was using this opportunity to really dig the knife in deep.

She’d get him later.

Maybe replace his special tape with a Kid bop mix from the mid 80′s.

**Author's Note:**

> Give me prosciutto or give me death.
> 
> Or you know, comments.
> 
> Find me on TUMBLRRRRRRR: <https://hushinghorizon.tumblr.com/>


End file.
